


Coming Home

by glitteredsins, jennandanica



Series: Citadel: Antony Starr and Stephen Amell [112]
Category: Actor RPF, Arrow (TV 2012) RPF, Banshee (TV) RPF, Canadian Actor RPF, Citadel (Journalfen RPG), New Zealand Actor RPF
Genre: BDSM, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-18 21:36:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16127222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitteredsins/pseuds/glitteredsins, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennandanica/pseuds/jennandanica
Summary: In Citadel, Antony Starr is an AU (alternate universe) character. He tells people he's an IT Risk Management and Computer Security Consultant (his official cover) but really he's a ex-military, sometimes mercenary, computer hacker and master thief hired by collectors and other ruthless people to steal for them: art, jewels, money, information... Citadel knows Antony's true occupation and he would never target the organization or any of its membership. Through Cit, he's met Stephen Amell (played RL) and fallen hard. This is their story.





	Coming Home

**Author's Note:**

> This is an archiving of all logs for the Antony Starr/Stephen Amell in the BDSM RPS RPG [Citadel](http://citadel.dreamwidth.org/read).
> 
> This is a new log and has not previously been posted to the game.

His dirty clothes unpacked and shoved into the laundry, Antony makes his first priority cleaning and putting away his guns. He grabs a protein bar from the cupboard, only now acknowledging his body's hunger and heads for the shower, scrubbing the last of the dirt, grease and grime from his body. He's marked. Bruised and scraped, but nothing truly serious. They'd done what they set out to do. Neutralize the enemy. Zoran's gone, his top men with him, the only variable a younger brother who got away. He's not connected with the family business though so Marcus and Antony made the decision not to go after him. Antony can only hope that won't come back to bite them in the ass.

Clean and dry, he takes care of the few cuts still bleeding and throws on a black t-shirt and grey sweats, covering the worst of the bruises. He'd texted Stephen when he got in, but not heard from him, which probably means he's in a meeting or at the gym. He settles on the couch to read, legs stretched out, a throw tossed over his bare feet, and promptly falls asleep.

Stephen races home, he'd gotten the text while he was in wardrobe, and had gotten pissy with his people that he had to go. _Now_. The journey up in the elevator is interminably long and for once Stephen curses that they live in the penthouse.

"C'mon, c'mon," he grumbles under his breath. When the doors start to open he squeezes out between the gap, not even waiting to change his collars, front door open, bag dropped, shoes kicked off. "Tony?" 

Antony stirs at the familiar voice, the surprisingly beloved nickname, slowly coming awake. "Here," he mumbles, sitting up, a hand scrubbed over his face.

Stephen comes to a standstill the moment Antony is in view - this time it's been tough, Stephen's been carrying an extra layer of worry, a nervousness that has had him jumping each time his phone pinged a message, or trilled out a tone. It takes moments for him to register the cuts, the grazes on his husband's face, the way Antony holds himself, even after being roused from sleep.

He covers that short distance and drops down beside his lover, without words he cups Antony's face in his palms and kisses him - hard. _He's home... he's home..._

Antony groans into the kiss, deepening it, tears pricking behind his lids. "I missed you," he whispers, the words smeared against Stephen's lips.

"My darling man, my darling man," Stephen murmurs back, he doesn't let go of Antony's face, but he pulls back a little, enough to search his eyes, to check his husband really is _here_ and not just physically.

"I'm good," Antony assures him, eyes crinkling. God. It's so fucking good to see Stephen. "We did what we had to do and I'm home, in one piece."

 _We did what we had to do..._ Stephen doesn't think on it, subconsciously files it away, too intent on touching, feeling, convincing himself that Antony's okay. "You're beat up." The accusation is made with a frown, hands dropping to pluck at warm cotton, the tee still scented with laundry detergent and not Antony. "Let me see." _Let me see for myself._

"Let me stand up," Antony says, swinging his legs off the couch as Stephen moves back. He pulls his t-shirt over his head and drops it on the coffee table. "There's bruises on my legs too. Do you want to see them?"

"Take it all off," Stephen's intonation is unusually directive. "Neither of us is staying clothed for much longer." His gaze rakes over each mark, each bruise, cataloguing them, gauging their severity, the likely tenderness that lies beneath each dark smudge.

The sweats join the t-shirt and Antony makes a slow turn, his cock already rising under Stephen's gaze.

Stephen pushes off the sofa, his movement sudden, like a burst of barely restrained energy. "Go to bed, I need to change my collar, I'll be with you directly." Stephen backs up, not wanting to touch, not trusting himself. 

Stephen's tone takes Antony by surprise but when he's been away for a week and comes home like this, there's not much he'd deny his boy. He grabs up his clothes and heads for the bedroom, the thermostat turned up a notch before he stretches out on the bed, the covers pulled down to the bottom.

With the correct collar in place, the metal still warming against his skin, Stephen sheds his clothes as he makes his way to their bedroom. He doesn't pause this time, he pads up to the end of the bed and climbs up, he starts at Antony's right ankle. The kisses are light, as are the swipes of his tongue, but Stephen's hands are hard, they press and push down, easing only when he finds bruises. 

"Oh fuck," Antony breathes, watching Stephen, feeling his mouth and his hands on him. His cock jerks against his belly, smearing precome across his skin and he groans.

This is a claiming, a _re-claiming_ of his husband, his lover, from whatever he's just been through, this is Stephen giving Antony all the reasons he needs to remember his promises; to come home, to keep safe. Mouth and tongue worship, hands caress and knead. Up over that cock, dripping it’s clear beads of anticipation, to belly and chest, to discoloured ribs and scraped collar bone. "Too much damage, too many marks," Stephen admonishes as he bites at Antony's throat, the words husked out in a throaty whisper.

"I know," Antony agrees, running his hands down Stephen's arms, up over his shoulders and back, "but it couldn't be helped."

"They had no right to touch what is mine," Stephen growls, teeth bared he makes a mark of his own, this one made out of love. "Too close to the line Antony, too close." 

"I know," Antony says again, breath hitching at the bite, more precome smeared against his skin. "But I couldn't help it." Not this time.

Stephen reaches for the lube, preps himself, quick and dirty, wiping his hand over his thigh, he positions himself over Antony's hips, his husband's cock guided to his asshole. "Tell me if I hurt you." It's not a request, and it doesn't sound like one, Stephen growls it out as he bears down, pushes, taking in that fat thick cock.

Christ. Antony's hands go to Stephen's thighs, spanning them, his hips rising to meet that drop, burying himself deep. More than anything else, this is it. Coming home.

It is Stephen who drives this fuck, he uses his body to draw groans and hisses of pleasure from his Sir, watches as the discoloured skin flushes with arousal, until Antony's icy blue eyes glitter with the need to cum, breath forced between bared teeth. Sweat slick, breathless himself, Stephen grunts out each movement, his own cock spilling a lazy drip drip of precum over Antony's belly. Not once does he break eye contact.

"Are you going to mark me?" Antony gasps, cock throbbing violently inside Stephen, so fucking close to the edge. "Come all over me?"

Stephen doesn't answer that, instead he adjusts the angle of his hips just a fraction, drives down on Antony's cock hard, once, twice, and then his body contracts as he sprays semen over Antony's chest and throat.

Fuck. The second that first drop of come hits his skin, Antony's coming, so fucking hard he almost goes blind with it, spurting hot and thick and deep into his boy.

Before he's even finished, his body still shuddering, Stephen's smearing his cum over Antony's skin with his fingers, it's a hurried almost desperate move, as if there is a need to obliterate the evidence of violence from his husband's body. "Mine... mine..." 

Antony shivers, those words and the possessive tone behind them sending another wave of pleasure through him. "Yours," he whispers back, watching Stephen, watching as his skin's painted, those bruises and scrapes covered, glistening. "Always."

Still dazed from his own orgasm, Stephen lifts his hand, pauses for just a moment before he offers his first two fingers to Antony's mouth, the pads pressed to his lover's lips.

Tongue flickering out to taste, Antony sucks those fingers into his mouth, licking each one clean in turn.

 _Mine again._ It's not a conscious thought, rather there's an easing in Stephen of a tension he's been carrying with him since Antony left for this job. His shoulders drop and his whole posture loosens, shoulders rounding, chin dipping to chest. 

"I love you," Antony says when he's finished, pressing a kiss to the tips. "More than anything." The words not even coming close to expressing what he feels for this man - his boy, his slave, his lover, his husband.

"I love you," Stephen returns softly. He eases himself off Antony, his husband's cock slipping free makes Stephen wince a little, but he drops down beside Antony, tucking himself up close, one hand resting - habitually - on Antony's chest, over his tags. 

Antony smiles, so blissfully content in this moment he wishes he could bottle that feeling. He rubs his hand over Stephen's shoulder, brushes a kiss across his temple. "I missed you so fucking much."

"Yeah, it was tough this time," Stephen admits, his eyes closed. He rubs his cheek against Antony's chest, the scent of sex and sweaty man filling his nose, making him hum a soft noise of approval.

"How's your leg?" Antony had intended to ask about that first thing but with the way he'd woken up and... everything else transpired, yeah, he didn't have a chance until now.

"It's fine," Stephen murmurs. "Kim's taking great care of me, the Arrow crew are working with us to manage it all, it's all good." 

"Good," Antony echoes, pressing a kiss to the top of Stephen's head. He's sleepy again, sated and relaxed in a way he hasn't been while away, every last bit of tension drained from his body.

"Go to sleep darling man," Stephen urges quietly. "You're home now."


End file.
